Survived as the nation’s No.1 team in a crowded BCS race. Survived losing another regular season mega battle with bitter rival LSU. Survived the possibility of losing and leaving the SEC on the outside of the national championship race. Survived one of the worst games of his career with the drive of a lifetime.

Years from now they’ll look back on this magical night and give the game some corny nickname. They make paintings of these unforgettable moments in Tide lore, and ask where you were when it happened.

Whatever they do this time, it couldn’t possibly do justice to the magnitude of what played out in the Tide's 21-17 comeback victory.

How many teams execute almost flawlessly in an environment like this, in such a desperate moment? How many quarterbacks, who had only completed a pass in the second half prior to the game-winning drive, hit 4-of-5 for 72 yards—including a perfectly set up screen pass to tailback T.J. Yeldon for a 28-yard touchdown pass that reverberated from Eugene, Ore., to Manhattan, Kan., to South Bend, Ind.?

Actually, it was everything Alabama and McCarron thought it would be. Tide coach Nick Saban is so meticulous, so maniacal about preparation, for this very reason. When everything is covered and everything is part of the plan, nothing knocks you sideways.

They meet every Friday before every game weekend to go over these two-minute scenarios. They did it again at the team hotel outside of Baton Rouge, sitting at a round table in a ballroom and going over the way LSU plays two-minute defense. They watched game tape, they studied tendencies, they left nothing to chance.

Not surprisingly when the moment arrived; when 93,000 at Tiger Stadium were as loud as they were when Eddie Fuller caught that touchdown pass in the Earthquake Game or Billy Cannon nailed that punt return on Halloween Night; it was just like any other two-minute practice every Thursday in Tuscaloosa.

“We knew exactly what they were doing,” said Alabama tailback Eddie Lacy. “AJ just took over.”

This was precision in every way imaginable: 18-yard completion to wideout Kevin Norwood, 15-yard completion to Norwood, 11-yard completion to Norwood, incomplete pass, 28-yard touchdown pass to Yeldon. It took all of 43 seconds.

As the final play came in from the sidelines, the call was set up perfectly after LSU had played soft zone the first three plays, and brought pressure on the only incompletion. The Alabama staff guessed blitz again, and called a screen to Yeldon.

“When we were lining up,” Saban said, “everyone on the headsets was saying, I hope they bring pressure.”

Of course they did. McCarron rolled slightly to his left, hopped and deftly lofted a pass to Yeldon. The Tigers were caught in a blitz against the perfect play to beat the blitz, and Yeldon—one of the nation’s most exciting and dynamic freshmen—was one-on-one against a defense that couldn’t account for him.

In fact, the only obstacle Yeldon faced was his own teammate, guard Chance Warmack pulling and blocking. He had to leap over Warmack to get into the clear and reach the end zone. Untouched.

“I looked up and saw it play out on the big screen,” Jones said. “It was like everything was moving slow. Then he scored, and I kept looking around for flags to make sure it was real.”

How could it not be real? This is what happens when you’re prepared for anything. And by anything, I mean anything.

This is a coach who last month before the Tide’s game at Missouri, had those in his “organization” look at the weather forecasts for Columbia, Mo., and figure out that there was a possibility of strong thunderstorms in the area. So when the storms came and lightning delayed the game, guess who had a “Lightning Plan.”

“There are no surprises,” Jones said.

Even Saban had to be surprised this time. He stumbled through a post-game press conference that sounded more like a losing press conference, talking about his team responding from this game and how it can affect them “in a positive way or a negative way.”

He watched his quarterback lead two—that’s right, two—two-minute drives (including a touchdown drive at the end of the half) that won the game, but play the worst game of his career. In those two drives, in 99 seconds of the game, McCarron was 7-for-8 for 109 yards, with one touchdown pass and one touchdown run.

The rest of the game, he was 7-of-19 for 56 yards and was no factor. For more than 58 minutes, this game was about the play of the LSU defense and the unthinkably poor game management of Tigers coach Les Miles.

He was the guy who tried a fake field goal (that failed) on fourth and 12 midway through the first half, then came back with less than 70 seconds remaining in the half and tried a 54-yard field goal (it failed, too) instead of punting and pinning the Tide deep and forcing them to settle with running out the clock.

Instead, the missed field goal gave the Tide the ball at its 37, and the first of McCarron’s two-minute drives began. Two more botched special moments—Miles tried to convert a fourth down early in the fourth quarter instead of kicking a short field goal, and LSU missed a 45-yarder a series later—led to the second two-minute opportunity.

“We had never been in that situation before this season,” McCarron said. “I told everybody we have a chance to go make history.”

This is what happens when you make history; when you save a season and a championship run and conference pride all at once—with 43 seconds that will last forever. You cry and you weep and you admit it with all the joy of a child.